I am a survivor. A survivor of childhood trauma. A survivor of domestic and intimate partner violence. A survivor of sexual assault.
Suicidal ideation and self-harm entered my life when I was just 11 years old. Today, I am in a much better place, but that doesn’t mean every day is easy. Some days, the weight of survival feels heavy. There’s gratitude for how far I’ve come, but also moments of survivor’s guilt—an ache for the younger version of me who didn’t know if she’d make it this far.
For so long, I thought of myself as a when person, not an if person. When I take my life, not if I do. That distinction was everything. But after surviving past attempts, I found something I never expected—a passion for living, nurtured by the friends who refused to let me slip away. That love, that unwavering support, helped me reimagine what life could be.
The Hard Work of Healing
Healing wasn’t instant. It wasn’t easy. There was no one-size-fits-all solution. It took time, trial and error, and a lot of patience to find what worked for me.
One of the hardest but most necessary steps I took was leaving my hometown. Sometimes, healing requires distance—from the places that hurt you and from the people who make you feel small. I had to set boundaries with family members who weren’t safe for my mental health. That was painful. But I knew that to survive, I had to prioritize my well-being, even if it meant stepping away from people I once loved.
I also had to find the right kind of help. I didn’t just accept the first therapist I found—I interviewed them, ensuring they were the right fit for my journey. I explored different treatments, some of which didn’t work, and some that changed my life. Therapy became a space where I could unravel my pain and, over time, learn how to live alongside it instead of being consumed by it.
What Healing Looks Like for Me
Healing isn’t a straight line. Some days, the darkness still creeps in. The difference now is that I have tools to handle it. Instead of spiraling, I pause, breathe, and remind myself that I’ve been here before—and I made it through.
Coping looks different for everyone. For me, humor helps. I use dark jokes to process pain. I even have a funeral playlist, not because I want to die, but because mourning past versions of myself gives me space to grow. I allow myself to acknowledge the grief that comes with healing—the loss of who I used to be, the life I could have had if things had been different. But I don’t stay in that grief. I move through it.
Therapy has been invaluable, and I know my needs may change over time. That’s okay. Healing isn’t about finding one solution and sticking to it forever—it’s about adapting, learning, and growing. I reach out. I ask for help. I refuse to let shame silence me.
For years, I bottled up my emotions, mistaking anger for strength. Now, I see that anger was protecting me. But I no longer need to fight the world—I need to fight for myself.
A Conversation With My Younger Self
I often imagine sitting down with my 11-year-old self, sharing coffee and quiet moments.
I would tell her she isn’t a failure. That her pain doesn’t define her. That walking away from people who hurt her isn’t abandonment—it’s survival.
I would remind her that she is a survivor. A fighter. A force of nature.
And I remind myself of the same.
It’s okay to fall. It’s okay to grieve what could have been. It’s okay to struggle. It’s okay to have days when simply existing feels like a victory. But it’s also okay to keep going—even if, some days, my only reason is sheer stubbornness. Because even spite is a form of survival.
I am worth this fight. You are worth this fight.
And neither of us is ever truly alone.
You’re more than your pain, more than what happened. You are strong enough to heal from the heavy you carry. We encourage you to use TWLOHA’s FIND HELP Tool to locate professional help and to read more stories like this one here. If you reside outside of the US, please browse our growing International Resources database. You can also text TWLOHA to 741741 to be connected for free, 24/7 to a trained Crisis Text Line counselor. If it’s encouragement or a listening ear that you need, email our team at [email protected].